


My Strength, My Shield

by ryukoishida



Series: In You my Heart Trusts [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Makoto’s life is in danger, Sousuke is his shield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Strength, My Shield

**Author's Note:**

> This is really rushed so please forgive me. I really want to write something for SouMako Week, so here we are.

            “Get down, Mr. Tachibana!”

 

            He feels a hand pressing down on his head with the force of a boulder and he goes down without a fight as a few bullets whistle by the spot where his head would have been a second ago if his bodyguard hasn’t pushed him down on to the ground.

 

            Now they are lying on the Tachibana residence’s exotic hardwood floor sprinkled with broken glass, the shards blinking oddly like patches of galaxies of stars under the brilliance of the chandelier swaying haphazardly above them.

 

            “What’s happening?” He has his hands over his head to avoid as much of the falling glass as possible. It honestly doesn’t help, and he can feel the shards digging and scratching painfully into wherever his skin is exposed.

 

            “That’s what I’d like to know,” the man in the once immaculate black suit, now dusted with bits of plaster and glass, mutters darkly as his sharp teal eyes dart this way and that, much like a fierce wolf on the verge to spring in attack the moment he senses the movement of the other party.

 

            “Rin, can you read me?” He presses his headset firm against his ear, trying not to wince as more shots are being fired around them, breaking more expensive vases and crystal decorative pieces, as well as the simplistic, tasteful paintings on the wall, some of which have taken a few bullet holes. Sousuke doesn’t even want to begin to estimate how much damage this damn attack is costing the Tachibana family right now. “Shit. Come on, come on. Rin? Ai? Momo?”

 

            “Ran and Ren – are they alright?” The grasp on his arm is almost painful – and that’s saying something in Sousuke’s case since it takes a lot to physically hurt the ex-police officer – and his voice cracks in desperation. “Sousuke?” Fear seems to have seized the man’s body all of a sudden; he’s shaking and Sousuke doubts he’s aware of it himself.

 

            He looks up at the sound of his name – deadly calm teal eyes that are cold as the strongest steel meeting green ones that are darkened with panic and worry – and he reaches for the other man’s hand that’s still holding tightly on to his arm, covering it with his own. He says quietly, “Makoto…”

 

            Only later does the brunet realize that this was the first time Sousuke has ever called him by his first name despite Makoto’s insistence right from the beginning. In more ways than one, Sousuke Yamazaki can be stubborn as hell.

 

            “The mister and missus are fine,” Rin reports suddenly, and Sousuke is forced to stop at mid-sentence, which is fine because he isn’t the type to easily comfort people during stressful situations. Rin has to shout through the commotion because in addition to the sounds of luxurious items exploding, there are also household staff’s screaming layered in between.

 

            “Where did those bastards come from?” Sousuke mutters in frustration, dark brows drawn together in concentration.

 

            “Ms. Ran and Mr. Ren are okay as well,” Ai adds, a little breathlessly as if he’s running. “Momo and I are going to take them to the safe base.”

 

            “Copy that,” Sousuke replies.

 

            “Sousuke – Ran and Ren?” Makoto is shaking him a little to get his attention, and Sousuke almost snaps at him in annoyance, but then he remembers the other man can’t hear the exchange made over their headsets.

 

            “They’re fine – your parents and your siblings are fine,” Sousuke tells him briskly. He knows his attitude is unrefined and brash at best, but now’s not the time to talk fancy. “We should get you out of here as soon as possible.”

 

            “How?”

 

            Makoto wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all: one minute he was sitting at the dining table with the notes for his thesis paper all spread out, getting ready to type it up on his laptop, and the next minute he was hearing window being broken in the distance and some of the staff near the front entrance shouting in alarm. Before Makoto knew what was happening, Sousuke – always quiet as a shadow that Makoto sometimes forgets he’s basically with him almost 24-7 – was yelling something into his headset and then they were diving down and landed on the cold, hard ground as the world crumbles around them piece by piece.

 

            They’ve managed to crawl their way behind the granite counter of the bar at the back of the dining room. Bottles of alcohol have already broken in the course of a few minutes, the colourful liquids trailing like mini rainbow waterfalls until the last drags of them drip into the pools below. The murky liquid is beginning to run over the edge of their shoes. If they don’t move out of their current position soon, it might be their blood that will be mixed with the spilt drinks.

 

            “Wait here. I’ll go take care of them,” Sousuke inches to the side of the counter where he attempts to see across the room but has to slip back when another set of shots are aimed at their direction. “Fuck.”

 

           “Take care of them – by yourself?” Makoto asks in disbelief, green eyes widening at Sousuke’s so-called plan. “This is a terrible idea. How are you going to fight all of them? You don’t even know how many people are out there!”

 

            “Well, _Mr. Tachibana_ ,” Sousuke snarls his name in harsh sarcasm – Makoto finds out that he has a tendency to do that especially when the tall, broody man is in an exceptionally foul mood, and the brunet supposes that getting shot at does contribute to that – and he continues with a glare, “If you got a better plan, I’m all ears. If not, then you need to shut up and trust me.”

 

            Their faces are just centimetres apart, neither man knowing when they’ve gotten this close; Makoto’s breathing is uneven, but he’s sure it’s due to the fact that they are in the middle of a goddamn shootout.

 

            Sousuke’s expression is as unreadable as ever. He bites his bottom lip as if he’s on the verge of saying something but decides against it, turning his head to the side with a sharp exhale and instead, his right hand is gripping the handle of his katana.

 

            Yes, he’s one of the few men Makoto knows who still uses a katana in the 21st century as a valid weapon, and yes, Makoto has had the fortunate opportunity to see Sousuke make use of it very efficiently to “take care” of his opponents. The result is never a pretty sight, but the graceful and delicate manner with which the man carries himself and his sword is a sight to behold.

 

            Like all the other bodyguards in this household, Makoto knows that Sousuke also has a handgun strapped to his waist but he has never seen the man used it.

 

            The dark-haired man is kneeling on the glass-covered floor, his chest close to the ground to keep himself lowered as he once again attempts to scout the approximate whereabouts of his enemies around the granite wall.

 

            “Just wait a second,” Makoto urges as he shifts closer to the other man but not enough to touch, “Why – why don’t we wait for back up? I’m sure the others would come in any second now.”

 

            “They’re all too busy dealing with their own assigned areas. It seems like we’ve got swarmed with an unexpectedly large numbers this time.” The grip on his katana tightens, knuckles turning bone white and his frame is shaking slightly, but either from the adrenaline or from something else entirely, Makoto can’t be certain. “Listen to me.” Sousuke pauses there, then turns around fully to face him, his lips pulled into a firm line but something in his usually aloof eyes is different; the icy apathy in them seems to have melted, the teal a shade warmer, the wall possibly breaking little by little, but there’s no time for Makoto to process all this. “Makoto, are you paying attention?”

 

            “Uh huh,” he nods once, finding himself wanting to hear Sousuke whisper his name again (perhaps under a vastly different circumstance than the current one) and swallows hard. Something high above the shelf – Makoto thinks it might have been his father’s treasured bottle of Bourbon whiskey – shatters and golden-ashen liquid rains down on them, the sharp, fiery scent with a trace of smoky oak drifting from where the drops have fallen.

 

            “Your parents hired me to keep you safe, and…” Sousuke hesitates for a short second, eyes darting downward and then he’s looking into Makoto’s startled green eyes again in a heartbeat, “I want to protect you the best way I know how, but you’ve got to do it my way, do you understand?”

 

            “Not if it means leaving without you,” Makoto protests, not backing down from this either. Sousuke breathes through his nose, his lips tightening with impatience.

 

            “I’ll use this,” Sousuke takes out his handgun – the black, shiny object that looks almost strange in Sousuke’s large hand – and holds it expertly in a firm grip. “I can see three targets just now, hiding behind the bookshelf by the doorway, and I can get to them with the gun. After that, you need to run to the kitchen and through the back door. Uozumi and Minami will meet you there and take you to the safe base.”

 

            “What about the others? There has to be more of them! What will you do?” Makoto can guess, and he knows Sousuke isn’t the type to sugar-coat truths either.

 

            “Like I told you before,” the corner of his lips curves into a self-assured smirk – a sign of his confidence – and it’s one of the expressions that sends Makoto’s heart racing. “I’ll take care of them, so don’t worry your little head about it.” He ruffles his brown locks playfully, or maybe mockingly given the situation, and Makoto doesn’t understand how he can remain so calm when they’re under such dire danger.

 

            “How can I not?” he murmurs, turning away with a sigh.

 

            More bottles explode near them; there aren’t that many left standing.

 

            “When I say go, Makoto, run for it,” Sousuke isn’t looking at him anymore, his attention solely spent on searching the ideal moment to take his shots as he clicks the gun’s safety off.

 

            “Sousuke, don’t ” His hand is on his arm again, feather-light this time, but he isn’t expecting the dark-haired man to turn around so abruptly and he almost falls on his rear in alarm. He feels it before he acknowledges what’s happening: dry, warm lips are directly on his own, drinking in any words that Makoto is about to say.

 

            It’s a brief kiss – ‘Wait, was that even a kiss?’ – and it’s hardly enough when Sousuke draws back, eyes half-lidded, though he’s still hovering close, his breaths fanning over his heated skin lightly marred by scratches of raining glass shards.

 

             “Shut up, and trust me,” he murmurs those same words again, lips brushing against Makoto’s as he speaks and eyes more genuine than Makoto has ever seen.

 

            Makoto can only blink back dazedly, all horror and gunshots and wrecked house forgotten for the moment. Then Sousuke is posed near the edge of the granite counter again, both hands on his gun with the muzzle turned skyward.

 

            “When I say go,” Sousuke reminds him, and though Makoto knows he probably can’t see it, he nods numbly anyway and gets ready, a palm against the cold granite, slippery with his own blood.

 

            Four seconds of near silence. Makoto releases a breath, and hears three consecutive, clean shots from his side. Three thuds signal the fallen bodies.

 

            “Go!” Sousuke roars without a moment’s delay, and they spring up at the same time, each heading to the opposite direction.

 

            Makoto knows he shouldn’t look back – should concentrate on where he’s going, should wonder if his parents and siblings have gotten to a safe place; he shouldn’t think about the danger Sousuke is putting himself into, or the way his heart has stuttered when their lips touched, or the thought that when he returns to this house again, there’s a possibility he may find Sousuke’s still body pierced by bloodied bullet holes.

 

            He knows he shouldn’t look back, but he does it anyway, just for a very brief moment, enough to see Sousuke cuts an elegant, silver arc into the air with the glimmering sword before slicing across a black-clothed man’s chest.

 

            Blood stains his blade instantly but Sousuke doesn’t stop; neither does Makoto, his feet carrying him further and further away though his heart aches for the man fighting for both of their lives.

 

            Makoto makes a silent promise to himself that if they live through this, he will tell him.

 

            He will tell Sousuke everything.

**Author's Note:**

> My god this is terrible. Sousuke wielding a katana in a suit though; think about it. It’s just a silly AU so I apologize for the outcome, haha. Hope you all enjoy it regardless!


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